


jaws theme song.

by skeletonannie



Series: another apple into pieces [6]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Also kind of, F/F, Gen, carmilla trashbaby karnstein, thats it, thats the whole thing, they go to the aquarium, top!Laura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonannie/pseuds/skeletonannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hollstein;  she can't take carmilla anywhere, but she can try.</p><p>[BONNIE & CLYDE RIDE OR DIE AQUARIUM EDITION]</p>
            </blockquote>





	jaws theme song.

Okay so.

            At 19, during the first semester of your flourishing university career, you managed to: vanquish an unspeakable evil; eat a truly impressive amount of cookies; not die; pass your courses with grades that didn’t make your dad’s moustache quiver; fall in love a little; learn to waltz; fall in love some more; and whatever you’re going to reiterate the _not dying_ part because that was a miracle.  So, you know, you’re pretty happy.  You’re alive, and your girlfriend (!!) is like disgustingly hot, and your friends are amazing and reckless and young.

            Yeah whatever you’re _basically_ a super hero for the whole ‘save Austria’ thing, but really you’re just an average girl.  Just a simple girl. Just a small town girl that has flown the nest.  So, is it really so absurd that you want to do _average_ things? With your decidedly above-average girlfriend?

            Carmilla seems to think so.

            Literally all you want to do is go to the aquarium.  You love otters, and seals are just water dogs (and you _love_ dogs), and the fries at the concession stand are stupendous.  They have a gift shop and you think Carmilla would look _adorable_ in one of those sock monkey toques, or a majestic beluga t shirt. Like actually there is _no_ downside to the aquarium.  And yet—

            “The aquarium?  You want to look at plankton?”

            She’s being difficult on purpose.  She hasn’t even opened her eyes yet.  Her face is pressed into the pillow, eyelashes brushing her cheek, and you can hear a very quiet hum coming from her chest.  But it doesn’t matter how cute she looks right now, so you roll your eyes really hard and hope she can hear.

            “ _Obviously not_ , Carmilla—” she snorts disbelievingly —“I want to see the animals, like the otters and seals and penguins!”  Prodding at her shoulder, you try again, “don’t you want to see the whales?”

            With a mighty groan, Carmilla opens her eyes.  “Cupcake,” and you’re doomed because her morning voice is so raspy and low and _sexy_ and she _knows this_ —“The aquarium and I don’t mix.  Occasionally a panther, remember?”

            “That is the worst excuse ever.  You don’t actually go in the water, Carmilla,” but she’s groaning again and pressing her nose into the pillow, tugging you down onto her. “Carmilla, _no_ , stop being—no, it’s so nice out today, let’s go—”

            She kisses you, sharp teeth and warm lips, and it’s not like the aquarium closes any time soon, you’ve got plenty of time.

 

 

You did not have plenty of time.

 

 

One day.  That’s all you’re asking.  One day full of otters and holding hands and being young. 

            Like, it’s not like you don’t go on dates—Carmilla takes you to dinner, or movies in the park, or to the top of the astronomy tower with a telescope _she built herself—_ and you even got her to go to the premiere of “Into The Woods” with you ( _‘who the actual shit why won’t they stop singing jesus Laura the last time I had this much fun I was being interned in a fucking coffin’)_. So it’s not like you guys never go out. You do.  You eat a lot, and watch a lot of movies, and there is a new bakery in town that you're _dying_ to try. 

            But for some reason, Carmilla is being very stubborn on the whole aquarium thing.

            “Laura, I don’t see why you can’t just go with Danny or LaF, or Perry; even Kirsch,” she mumbles when you peer over the top of her book with puppy dog eyes.

            “I didn’t even ask you this time!” She rolls her eyes.  “Yeah, okay, I was _going_ to, but—I don’t want to go with them!  I want to go with you.”  A very soft smile graces her lips for like 2 seconds before she’s heaving a sigh and shrugging.

            “Sorry, buttercup.”  But she doesn’t _sound_ very sorry.

 

 

So. You have devised a plan.  It is literally ‘puppy dog eyes her until she breaks and if that doesn’t work withhold sex.’  That’s it. That’s the whole plan. Personally you think it’s above and beyond.  You’ve really evolved in regards to your scheming.

 

 

 

A glass shatters and you hear a very low groan. Turning slowly, you regard Carmilla, your hand trailing down your throat, tracing your bare collarbone. “Something wrong, babe?”

            She doesn’t answer, just glares— _hard_ —and bends to pick up the broken glass, pointedly ignoring you. You hum low in your throat and recline on the bed, very openly staring at her ass.  When she stands, it is with another very pointed glare, and then she’s tossing the glass in the rubbish bin with a grumpy flourish.

            “Babe,” you murmur, reach for her wrist, drag your finger down her forearm. Biting your lip, you stare at her from under your lashes and—with a surge of pride—you see her pupils blow and another low growl vibrates in her throat, before she shakes her head and pulls her hand back.

            She stalks to the other side of your shoved-together beds—something she had taken the liberty of doing once you returned from your dad’s house and while you were out with Danny, and then staunchly refused to acknowledge—and grabs her worn copy of _Les Mis,_ sinking woefully down to the floor.  Her knuckles are white and her shoulders, pressed against the side of the bed, are tense. You see her take a deep breath before she stops moving completely.  With a smirk you crawl down the bed and drape your arms over her shoulders, your breath hot on her neck.

            “Carm, babe, what’s up with you?”

            She raises her head long enough to give you an incredulous eyebrow raise. “Really, cutie?” She clenches her jaw; you can feel it against your cheek, “you play really dirty.”

            You shrug and press your open lips to her neck, lick her jaw. “Just agree with me,” you whisper into her ear right before you bite it and tug.  You feel her whole body, tense underneath you, shudder, and then she’s doing that low growl thing again and you think maybe you’ve finally won, but then she’s rolling out from under you faster than you can react and stalking into the bathroom, turning on the shower. 

            “Please have clothes on when I come out,” she calls, and you smirk because it sounds a little desperate.  Which sounds a little like winning.

 

 

            This whole ‘withhold sex until I get my useless asshole vampire to agree to an aquarium date’ was a good idea.  It was a great idea!  Except.

            _Of fucking course_ Carmilla took it as a challenge.

            It’s been nine days.  _Nine. Days._ You’ve tried everything, but it seems you vastly underestimated your girlfriend’s stubborn streak, so now not only are you _not_ at the aquarium, holding hands and looking at otters, but you’re also uncomfortably turned on, like, _all the time_.

            Carmilla has taken this to a whole new level: yesterday, when you came home from class, she was lounging on the bed, naked, and when she saw you staring at her she started reading aloud. Her voice, first of all, is probably illegal in like 9 different countries when it’s all raspy and low like that. She murmured softly, darkly, _where I was a Flower of the mountain_ yes _when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red_ yes _and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again_ yes _and then he asked me would I_ yes _to say_ yes _my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him_ yes _and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume_ yes _and his heart was going like mad and_ yes _I said_ yes _I will_ Yes _._  and that would’ve been bearable. Well, probably, if it weren’t for, on every _yes,_ she’d punctuate it with a breathy exhale and a brush of her hand over her nipple, trailing down the line of her stomach until she reached the apex of her thighs. Like ?? ? That is cruel, and watching your girlfriend touch herself to the soundtrack of your favourite passage from  _Ulysses_ was at once  _so_ hot and  _so annoying._

            So. Yeah.  This game is _not_ going as you planned, and now you’re taking your like seventh shower of the day.

            Those otters better be worth this.

 

 

Time to play even dirtier.

 

 

“Cupcake, wha—” but you slam her back against the door, your tongue tasting the backs of her teeth and your nails scratching at her sides, before she can finish.  She exhales heavily through her nose before she kisses you back—hard—and spins you around, presses your spine into the doorframe, slips a hand between your legs. You _feel_ her whimper, breathy into your mouth; you bite her lip and pull, tangle a hand in her hair, the other slipping beneath the waist of her leather pants.

            “I—” but you suck her tongue into your mouth, pull her hair, press your fingers hard into her spine and she arches into you with a low moan. Pushing her back into the wardrobe, you unbutton her pants while pressing hot kisses down her throat, suck a dark bruise onto her collarbone, palm her through her panties and she growls, her hips canting into your hand.

            You still your hand, let her grind herself into your fingers until you feel her breath stutter, her jaw clench, and then you pull away, biting her shoulder.

            “Laura, what the—no—ugh— _what are you doing­_?” Her eyes are dark, pupils completely blown, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitch. Her fangs are out, drawing tiny beads of blood from her bottom lip, and _ugh_ it should not turn you on so much but it _does_ and this is so hard but you are _determined—_

            “Oh my fucking god Laura is this about the fucking aquarium are you shitting me I will go with you _holy shit_ but _please_ just fucking _touch me_ for literally everyone’s sake.” Her chest is heaving and her hair is a mess; blood is smeared on her bottom lip.

            “So you’ll go with me?” you ask, your voice a lot thicker than you want it to be, and she rolls her eyes so hard you briefly think she’s having a seizure.

            “I will go with you, buttercup,” and she sounds so wound up you surge forward and kiss her clumsily, your teeth knocking together; you tug her underwear aside and press your fingers into her, moaning at her arching spine. It doesn’t take long, and then you’re smiling into her neck as she comes around you with a heady moan.

            “Ugh,” and you’re about to be wildly offended, but then, “I can’t even be mad about losing, which makes me mad.”

            “You’re such a stubborn asshole,” you laugh.  She nods against your shoulder.

            “Would we really call this losing, though?”

           

 

 

            The aquarium is not working out like you had hoped.  You had forgotten that, yeah, your girlfriend is a 334 year old killing machine, and that animals can sense stuff like that, so every display you go to, the animals scatter as soon as they sense Carmilla.

            “I tried to get you to go with the Ginger Squad,” she mutters, her arms wrapped around your shoulders, and then you realize.

            “You knew this would happen the whole time?”  Spinning in her arms, you pout up at her and she groans.

            “Darling, I’m a _vampire_ and occasionally a _panther_. Of course I knew this would happen.”

            “But—but you’re also so cute,” you mutter, your eyebrows pulling together. She sighs and smooths the line between your eyes with her thumb.

            “All of these animals have better instincts than you do,” she drawls, ignoring your huff.  “I’ll go wait over in the giftshop, cupcake, okay?”  She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.  “Film the otters for me, won’t you?”  And before you can disagree, she turns and saunters off into the depths of the gift shop.

 

 

 

 

You’ve spent the last hour chilling with the otters. They remind you of Danny, sort of, or maybe Kirsch.  One of them (Rupert, you decided) started hamming it up for the camera, showing off with his little inflatable basketball, so you have a lot of footage to show Carmilla. Speaking of, it’s about time you went to find her.

            The giftshop is a busy place.  But you can’t see Carmilla anywhere, even after doing two laps, so you wander out the other side and start looking for her in the other exhibits.

            A _very_ familiar laugh comes from around the corner as you exit the amazon exhibit—hilarious videos of the sloth now on Carmilla’s phone—and you follow the sound to the tropical fish exhibit. There, you find your idiot girlfriend bent double in front of a tank full of—oh jeez. 

            “I can’t take you _anywhere_.”

            She’s still laughing as she turns to you, and there are legitimate tears streaming down her face.  “Laura! Laura, look at these idiots oh man—” and she turns back to the tank and lets out a low rumbling growl. The few puffer fish that had managed to deflate rapidly balloon again and Carmilla _loses_ it.  Her hand is braced against the tank and you’re worried she might barf she’s laughing so hard.

            “Carmilla—” but she’s not done.  Taking a deep breath, she taps the glass and bares her fangs, and then doubles over again, sliding down the wall to press her face into her knees.

            “I’m gonna pass out,” she wheezes, wiping her eyes and looking at you from the floor. She looks _so young_ it breaks your heart a little, so you sink down and allow yourself to laugh, because— _look_ at those idiot fish.

            At your laugh, her smile gets even bigger, and she tugs on your earlobe. “How were the otters?” she asks through a wheeze.

            “I’ll show you when we get home,” you promise, a hand on her knee. She smiles back with a nod, before looking up at the tank again and falling onto her ass, laughing harder still.

 

 

You can’t take her anywhere, but there’s no one you’d rather be kicked out of the aquarium with.

**Author's Note:**

> these idiots. i have a lot of fun imagining carmilla in everyday situations that she manages to fuck up.
> 
> find me on tumblr siimulacra.tumblr.com we can shout abt lawstein brotps together


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